“Good gracious!” Norah gasped. “Are there many like him?”
As if in answer a second rickshaw came round the corner of a wharf building. The Zulu who drew it might have been the twin brother of the first man in size and features; but his dress was blue and white, and one of his bullock-horns curved up, and the other down, which gave him a curiously rakish appearance. They were dyed scarlet and black, and his feathers were of every colour of the rainbow. The first man broke into a rapid torrent of guttural, clicking speech, and for a moment they chattered like monkeys. Then they looked up, catching sight of the watching passengers on the Perseus, and each broad, black face widened into a smile from ear to ear, while they beckoned invitingly towards their waiting chariots.
“Many!” said the doctor, laughing. “Oh, any number, Miss Norah—that is the cab of Durban!”
“Daddy!—do we go in them?”
“Would you like to?” said her father, regarding the peculiar equipage with some distrust.
“Rather!” said Norah, breathlessly.
“I don’t think I’d look well in one,” said Mr. Linton, doubtfully. “Surely they’re meant for the young and frivolous, doctor?”
“Not a bit,” said the doctor, laughing. “Every one uses them—they’re awfully handy things. You can’t possibly keep out of them!”
“That settles it!” said Norah, thankfully. “We’ll go, Daddy. Can we go soon?”
“That red and white chap has put the evil eye on Norah,” said Wally, laughing. “She’s bewitched, and small blame to her—did you ever see such an insinuating smile? Don’t let us keep her waiting, Mr. Linton, or she’ll turn into a black cat and disappear for ever—in a phantom rickshaw!”